Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  Her lips parted. "Don't I?" She slid the peignoir down her arms, watching his eyes fall to it.

  "Not sex," he bit off.

  "It won't be," she whispered. "I promise. Watch me, Gabriel."

  She slid the straps of the gown down her arms, too, and slowly, seductively, bared her body to his glittering eyes. He started to reach for her automatically, but she held his hands gently at his sides, shaking her head.

  "Shh," she whispered. "I...need to show you...that I'm whole again. I think you need the proof."

  As he held his breath, her cool hands reached for the snaps of his pajama bottoms and undid them, letting the fabric slide down the length of his powerful, hard-muscled legs. She moved close to him then, just barely touching, letting him feel every texture of her skin as she brushed against him.

  "Maggie," he groaned, his eyes closing.

  "I want all of you," she said, putting her mouth to his chest, sliding her hands down the warm, smooth silk of his back and hips, around to the hair-roughened skin of his flat stomach and thighs.

  He bit back a harsh groan and his muscles convulsed, but he didn't try to stop her.

  "Oh, Gabriel," she breathed against his skin, her eyes closed, her hands adoring his body, loving the freedom of touching him as she'd always dreamed of doing, arousing him, giving him everything there was of passion and love in her whole being.

  "Let me lie down," he whispered, "before my knees give way."

  He went to the bed and stretched out, his body arching in sensual expectation, his eyes open. "Come on," he whispered, his eyes glittering, challenging. "Do it."

  She'd invited him once in exactly those words. And now she took the invitation. All the things he'd done to her, she did to him. Exploring. Touching. Drawing the very tips of her fingers over skin so sensitive that he began to make odd, hoarse sounds.

  "And you say I'm a noisy lover," she teased at his lips as she smoothed her body completely down the length of his and lay over him. "You're noisy, too."

  He looked up into her soft, loving eyes and suddenly didn't need words; suddenly knew. His hands slid to her hips, holding them lightly to him. "That pill..." he whispered. "Did you take it today?"

  "No." She smiled. "And if you miss even one—" she bent to his open mouth "—it can be very, very dangerous." She bit his lower lip. "I feel absolutely primitive. I want to bite you all over."

  He burst out laughing, although it was a sound laden with passion and delight. He held her hips. "Sit up," he whispered, daring her. "I'll help you."

  "I don't know how," she said.

  "Shh." He sat up against the headboard, drawing her over him, facing him, her body close and warm against his as he eased her onto his hips and watched her lips part on a breath as he deepened the contact into stark intimacy.

  Her nails drew sensuously against his broad, dark shoulders. She looked into his eyes as she lifted and fell, and trembled a little at the newness of what they were sharing.

  "I've never done this deliberately," he whispered. "Knowing that a child could come of it, and not minding."

  "Neither have I," she whispered back, catching her breath as she saw the depth of emotion in his eyes. "Becky will...like...having a baby in the house."

  His lean hands smoothed her hips down against his. "It may take a while," he told her. "Sometimes it takes months. Years."

  She smiled through the building passion. "I'll like that. Won't you?"

  He shuddered as she moved again, his fingers biting into her "Don't. I'll bruise you."

  "I don't mind," she whispered at his lips. "I'm not afraid of passion anymore. Not with you."

  He took a deep breath. "Tell me this isn't some new way of showing me how grateful you are about Becky," he said, his movements beneath her growing sharper, quicker.

  "It isn't," she whispered. She lifted closer, watching his face grow taut at the sensuous brushing. "It's simply a new way...of showing you...how very much I love you," she murmured, and found his mouth, and moved suddenly, sharply.

  His mind exploded. He wanted to ask her, to make her say it again. But she was showing him. Her body was telling him everything she felt.

  He groaned hoarsely under the flame of her twisting body, and his back threatened to give way as the frenzy of trying to get as close as possible threw it into convulsive spasms. He cried out something he didn't hear because the blood was beating in his ears. He was vaguely aware of her own voice, then the world seemed to go dark and warm and gently trembling around him, and he buried his face in her throat and shuddered.

  "I love you," she whispered against his shoulder. She kissed his face, his closed eyes, his warm mouth. "I love you, I love you...."

  "Keep saying it," he whispered, his voice weak with exhaustion. "Say it until I die. I want to hear it all the time, all my life."

  She smiled against his lips. "You love me, too," she murmured smugly. "You said so. You said so, just before your body went wild. I heard you."

  "Said it? God, I screamed it!" He held her closer, wrapping her up, cherishing her. "I didn't even know it, until today. I'd always wanted you, cared about you. But I didn't realize it was love until that blond jackass started telling lies about you, and I wanted to kill him. Because you were my Maggie, and he was hurting you."

  She smiled, her heart bursting, on fire with new delights. "I knew it the night after you made love to me on the sofa," she told him. "All at once I realized why I'd let you. I couldn't have done it without loving you."

  "I didn't even think about that. I tried not to think of you, it disturbed me so. Every time I went in the living room afterward, I'd see your body lying in exquisite positions on those cushions and I'd bend over with pain."

  She laughed, looking into his pale eyes lovingly. "Me too," she confessed.

  His hands smoothed over her, his eyes adoring every soft curve. "I thought my legs were going to give way when you threw those pills in the trash can," he said dryly.

  “Mine almost did," she told him. "I could hardly walk by the time I started undressing you. And you just stood there and didn't even protest." She cocked her head. "I didn't think you'd let me make love to you like that."

  "I wouldn't have stopped you, no matter what you'd done to me," he chuckled. "That was so damned exciting, my heart stopped beating a time or two. I never thought I'd hold off until you stopped torturing me long enough to take me."

  Her eyes widened with delight. "You really didn't mind?"

  "Honey, lovemaking is give and take," he said gently. "It's as exciting for a man to be aroused as it is for a woman. I don't feel any less a man because I give you that kind of freedom with my body. In fact," he added with a wicked laugh, "I feel a lot like a man with his own private harem, intent on his pleasure. I loved it."

  "I'm glad. We'll have to take turns from now on."

  He eased her down onto the bed, his body still locked with hers, and moved over her, resting his weight on his elbows as he looked down into her soft eyes.

  "Do you think it could get any better than it just was?" he whispered.

  "I don't know," she replied, her voice husky with excitement.

  His hips moved experimentally as he bent his dark head. "Let's see."

  She closed her eyes with a faint smile. Her arms reached up. Heaven was so close, she could feel it...

  The next day, while Becky was playing with the ducks near the small pond, Maggie decided it was time Gabriel heard the truth about his stepfather. Janet had been quiet since the wedding and was already talking about going back to Europe. Gabe hadn't protested; if anything, he'd been even more indifferent to his mother. It was breaking her heart, and Maggie wanted more than anything to help heal the breach between them.

  "I want to tell you something," she said softly, lying in his arms under the big oak tree.

  "You're pregnant already?" He grinned down at her.

  She hit him. "It would be a miracle if I wasn't, after last night. But that's not what I meant." She touc
hed his mouth with gentle fingers. "I want to tell you something. About your stepfather."

  His face closed up. Grew hard, as it had in the time before they married. "I don't want to hear it." He tried to move her aside but she clung.

  "No," she said firmly. "You're going to hear me if I have to sit on you!"

  His eyebrows arched. "Aren't we daring today?"

  "We'll get more daring by the minute, now that we're loved and happy and secure," she returned. "So look out, cowboy, I expect to be a sexy shrew in no time. Now, listen. Your stepfather had cancer. He was dying. Your mother knew that; it's why she didn't leave him when he had his fling with your mercenary little intended."

  "He what!" He sat straight up, almost unseating her. "And she never told me?"

  "You wouldn't listen, as usual," she said. "She did try."

  He drew in a slow breath and let it out again. "Damn. All these years I've blamed her, hated her for shielding him. She said he died of a heart attack."

  "Mercifully, he did," she told him. "It was bone cancer, you see. He had very little time to live, and the woman was attentive to him, and he was reliving his youth. And it's just as well that he did," she added firmly, "because the last thing in the world you needed was to be tied to some greedy little girl with dollar signs in her eyes!"

  "Amen," he said, his voice husky as he looked at his Maggie with exquisite love in his eyes. "I guess I've been blind."

  "You might tell your mother that."

  "And shock her to the back teeth?" he asked. "She doesn't expect me to be nice to her. I'd hurt her feelings."

  She studied him quietly. "Gabriel."

  He grimaced. "All right. I'll make my peace with her. I can afford to be generous now—what with my new family and all."

  "This part of your new family loves you to distraction," she whispered, lifting her lips to his warm mouth. "And would love to prove it to you all over again, if she had the strength."

  He chuckled against her soft lips. "I'll be sure you get two portions of everything at supper."

  "You'd better eat seconds yourself," she said, smiling. "I feel primitive again...."

  His mouth was moving hungrily over hers when a soft, excited young voice broke through the illusion of privacy they'd created.

  "Papa! Mama!" Becky called them, hands on her hips, looking indignant. "Oh, do stop that, and come quick! The ducks have laid an egg! You have to come and look, it's much more fun than what you're doing. Why people like all that kissing is just beyond me, anyway. Yuck!"

  Gabriel got to his feet with his lips compressed, his eyes shimmering, trying not to burst out laughing. Maggie followed suit, biting her lips with the effort to remain sober.

  "You bet I'll never kiss any boys," Becky muttered as she turned back to the bushes where the ducks had made a nest. "Not me, no sir. My goodness, you'll give each other germs!"

  That did it. They broke up. Gabe took Maggie's hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, laughing against the soft palm. "You contagious little thing, you," he teased as they followed their daughter. "I've already come down with a bad case of you, and I hope never to recover."

  "I'll guarantee that you'll be properly reinfected if you try." Maggie pressed close to his side, happier than she'd ever expected to be. Becky was kneeling beside a nest in the brush, her eyes fixed wide and fascinated on two large oval eggs that rested there. Maggie smiled at her daughter. Like the eggs, happiness seemed to be hatching all around them. She glanced up at Gabe's vibrant face and found him watching her, his eyes tender with love.

  Something he'd said once came back to her as she glanced toward the flowered pastures that stretched to the wide horizon. Something about the pioneers coining, claiming the new territory in a rage of passion. Her eyes turned toward Gabe, and she felt it all the way to her toes. And she smiled.

  End

  Fit for a King (04-1987)

  Chapter One

  The king-size bed felt strange to Elissa, which was no surprise, really, since it wasn't her own. It belonged to Kingston Roper, and it was a good thing they were friends or she'd never have done him this "little favor" on a minute's notice. Elissa's own safe, single bed was in her little cottage on the white Jamaican beach near Montego Bay, only a short walk from King's enormous villa.

  In the past two years Elissa knew she'd gone from being just an irritating neighbor to the only friend King had. And friend was the word; they certainly weren't lovers. Elissa Gloriana Dean, for all her eccentricities and uninhibited appearance, was an innocent. Her missionary parents had given her a loving but restrictive upbringing, and not even her budding success in the sophisticated world of fashion design had liberated her in any physical way.

  This trip down she'd been on the island only since that morning, missing King, who wasn't at home, and half-heartedly working on her newest collection of colorful leisure wear for the boutique that carried her exclusive designs. Then, just an hour ago, King had phoned her with this wild request and had hung up without a word of explanation the moment she'd agreed to help him out. She couldn't imagine why he wanted her to be found in his bed. He didn't seem to be dating anyone. But then again, maybe he was being hounded by some bored socialite and wanted to show her that he was already involved. This tactic did seem a bit drastic, though, especially since King was adept at speaking his mind. He never pulled his punches, even with people he liked. Oh, well. All the wondering in the world wasn't going to give her any answers. She'd simply have to wait to hear what King had to say.

  She stretched luxuriously in his huge bed, the smooth satin sheets feeling cool and sexy against her skin. She was wearing a nightgown, but it was made of the finest cotton and slit to the hips on both sides. In front, it made a plunge to her navel. The daring pink negligee was part of her fantasy life, she admitted to herself. In some ways she might be repressed on the surface, but in her mind she was a beautiful siren who lured men to their dooms.

  Only with King could she safely indulge that fantasy woman, however, because he never approached her physically. With King, she could flirt to heart's content. Although she was friendly to most men, she was careful not to tease. The instant a man mistook her playful friendliness for a come-on, she retreated into her shell, the fantasy shattered. It was one thing to pretend to be sexy, but quite another to follow through. A frightening experience in her teens had left her extremely wary in that regard.

  King was safe, though, Elissa reminded herself. Over the past two years he'd become a friend and a confidant, and she wasn't afraid to let down her guard with him. She wouldn't have dreamed of wearing this revealing gown in front of anyone else. But despite their sometimes flirtatious camaraderie, King scarcely even seemed to notice that she had a body, so this little charade held no danger. She smiled to herself, feeling womanly and sexy and wildly come-hitherish. She would put on a great act for whoever this persistent female was, and later King could tell her all about it

  Kingston Roper, she mused. He could be such an enigma at times-like now. He was a big-time businessman, she knew-oil and gas and a few diversified interests, as she recalled. He'd inherited interest in the family company, which had been on the verge of bankruptcy, and had used his business savvy to make a fortune. Apparently his half brother, whose father had left the business to both sons, had been competing like mad to overtake King ever since.

  Although they talked frequently and freely, she and King didn't spend a whole lot of time discussing everyday details about themselves, and as a result, she now realized, she didn't know all that much about his family. His half brother, Bobby, was married, and King had said something about expecting him and his wife for a visit. But that was at about the time she'd had to go back to the States to oversee her latest collection as it was assembled.

  She smiled again as she thought about the success of that collection, which allowed her the luxury of spending time in Jamaica. Her name was her label- Elissa-and she catered to a unique clientele. Her sportswear was exotic, and its fantasy
flair was designed to capture the eye as well as the imagination. She favored dramatic combinations of red and black and white, with the emphasis on cut and silhouette. Her styles had taken some time to catch on, but now that they had, sales were booming, and she was making a nice living. The cottage had been a godsend- she'd bought it at a terrific price when she'd been on a rare vacation-and for the past two years, whenever she needed rest or inspiration, she left the small Miami house she shared with her parents and came to sunny Jamaica.

  She'd led a sheltered but happy life, one of the consequences of being the only child of former missionaries. Her parents were highly individualistic and encouraged Elissa to be the same-except in one respect. They were extremely moral people, and they had instilled that same morality into their daughter. As a result of her upbringing, Elissa was something of a misfit in the modern world, but in most respects - even in her wild designs - she was an individual.

  When she came to Jamaica, she relaxed by watching out for King, who seemed to be in almost permanent residence these days. Two years ago she'd taken him on as a social project, since he kept so much to himself, never smiled and seemed to think about nothing except business. Gradually, she reflected, he'd thawed a little. She grinned, then tensed, listening carefully to the sounds coming from the next room. Realizing it was only Warchief mumbling to himself in his covered cage, she relaxed.

  The big yellow-naped Amazon parrot belonged to Elissa, but she'd never taken him to the States. He belonged on his tropical island, and she loved him too much to risk disturbing his delicate immune system with the stress of international travel. King seemed to like him well enough, since he let the five-year-old parrot stay with him when Elissa was away. Warchief had had a bad cold when she'd arrived in Jamaica this time, and to avoid upsetting the bird with a move while he was still sick, King was letting him stay at the villa until he recovered. He'd be well soon, though; already he was as feisty as ever.

  It had been Warchief who'd first introduced them, she remembered fondly. Elissa had nearly drained her bank account to buy the big green bird from his previous owner, who'd been moving into an apartment Warchief definitely wasn't an apartment bird. He heralded dawn and dusk with equal enthusiasm, and his ear-piercing cries did sound like an Indian warrior of old on the attack. Hence, his name.